Submerge

the wheel turns
so do we
tied to the spokes
with strands of misery
paper thin prisons
created in the mindfields
now trap all those
who once dared to dream
the future is a maniac
with a bared grin
streaked with blood and guts
of the animal called the past
the present is a lead weight
weighing us down
sinking us with all the mass
into the depths of our sin
but it's cool at the bottom
even if the pressure is immense
there is no escape from this
when the ocean is in my own mind
so breathe and breathe in deep
right before you sleep
remember
remember

sliver

from a tiny little hole
a sliver of light
a sign of hopeful paranoia
something to get me through the night
might be a bit sad
to be stuck in this muck
could be a bit mad
to feel like a thousand bucks
shucks!
writing poems in this format
like shitty three chord rock songs
even if you don't know the rhythm
you'll know how to sing along
and even if the beat screws up
you won't get the lyrics wrong
and we'll pass responsibilities
like a game of pinging pong
everyone in the world is right
Ii'm the only fool that's wrong
maybe I should go apprentice
in the cave of Dr. Dong
now this poem makes no sense
it's become more like a song
wait, I rhymed that earlier
is that allowed or is that wrong?

I should stop
while I'm on top

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Ok, look I started writing this last night. First paragraph is from then, next lines are from now. Mood varies, so does the poem.